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Gardner came pounding after her, and when she realized her mistake, it was too late. He'd grabbed hold of her wrist and was dragging her out of the back exit into an alleyway. Murray was all the way around front, parked at the curb.

"Let go of me!" she said. "I mean it, I'll scream," she said. She was as angry as she had been when the book had struck her.

Without a word, he dragged her right off her feet and down the alleyway towards his car, and threw her in the passenger side, slamming the door and locking it with his remote.

When he went to open the driver's side, he unlocked only that door. She beat on the windows. She screamed. "Let me go!" she said. "How dare you do this to me?"

He started the car, backed out of the alley, and took off down the side street, away from the main boulevard where Murray was no doubt waiting to pay for Marge's taxi.

Down a quiet street, he drove the car at reckless speed, oblivious to the squeal of the wheels or enjoying it.

Rose beat on the windshield, on the side window, and when she could see no one anywhere around, she reached for the key in the ignition.

With a resounding blow he sent her backwards against the passenger door. For a moment she didn't know where she was, then it came back to her completely and horribly. She struggled to sit up, reaching into her purse and quickly finding the iPhone. She sent the SOS message to Murray. Then Gardner grabbed the purse from her and, buzzing down his window, hurled it out, phone and all.

By now the car was speeding through traffic, and she was being thrown from one side to the other as it swerved around one intersection after another. It was making for old Palo Alto, the neighborhood where Gardner lived. And soon the streets would once again be deserted.

Again, Rose banged on the windows, gesturing frantically to passing cars, to people on the sidewalk. But no one seemed to notice her. Her screams filled the car. Gardner grabbed her by her hair and pulled her head away from the window. The car slammed to a stop.

They were in some side street now with big trees, those big beautiful dark green magnolias. He turned her around and held her face in the vise of his thin fingers, his thumb biting painfully into her jaw.

"Who the Hell do you think you are!" he breathed at her, his face dark with rage. "Who the Hell do you think you are to do this to me!"

These were exactly the words she wanted to speak to him, but all she could do was glare at him, her entire body soaked in sweat. She grabbed at his hair with both her hands and yanked it as he'd yanked hers. He hurled her back against the window again and slapped her repeatedly, until she was gasping uncontrollably.

The car drove on, tires screaming, and as she struggled to sit up again, her face burning, she saw the driveway in front of her, and the old Georgian house looming over her.

"You let me go!" she screamed.

He dragged her from the car, pulling her out the driver's side, and dragging her onto her knees on the concrete.

"You don't begin to know what you've done to me!" he roared. "You miserable stupid girl! You don't begin to grasp what your fun and games have done."

He dragged her through the door and hurled her across the dining room so that she hit the table hard and sank to the floor. When he lifted her up, she'd lost one of her shoes, and blood was pouring from her face down onto her sweater. He hit her again, and she went out. Out.

Next thing Rose knew, she was in the bedroom. She was on the bed, and he was standing over her. He had a glass in his hand.

He was talking in a low voice, saying once more how she'd broken his heart, how she'd disappointed him. "Oh, this has all been the disappointment of my life, Rose," he said. "And I wanted it to be so different, so very different, with you, Rose, of all the flowers of the field, you were the fairest, Rose, the fairest of all."

He came towards her as she struggled to get up.

"Now we will drink this together."

She tried to scurry backwards, away from him, off the bed, but his right hand caught her wrist while, with his left hand, he held the glass of liquid high out of her reach.

"Now, stop it, Rose." He growled between his clenched teeth. "For the love of God, do this with dignity."

Suddenly a pair of headlamps sent their beams over the master-bedroom windows.

Rose began to scream as loud as she could. It was nothing like those nightmares in which you try to scream and you can't. She was shrieking. The screams just erupted uncontrollably.

He dragged her towards him as he went on and on, shouting over her screams: "You are the most dreadful disappointment of my life," he cried, "and now as I seek to make all things new, to make all things whole, for you and for me, Rose, you do this to me, to me!"

With the back of his hand, he slammed her into the pillow. Out. When she opened her eyes, a foul burning fluid was in her mouth. He had her nose pinched between his fingers. She gagged, and bucked and struggled to scream. The taste was ghastly. Her throat was burning. So was her chest.

He thrust the half-full glass at her and the liquid inside it splashed on her face, burning her. The smell was acrid, chemical, caustic. It burned into her cheek and neck.

Twisting around as she struggled against his grip, she vomited on the bed. She kicked at him with both feet. But he wouldn't let go. He threw the liquid at her and she turned with all her strength, feeling it splash against her face. It went into her eyes. It blinded her. Her eyes were on fire.